vilized world as a place of
exile, a place of horror, a dreary wilderness of frost and snow and
wind, a place to which the words "ye who enter here must leave all hope
behind" were ever applicable. The greater part of this journey of over
5,000 miles from Moscow to the Far East, which I was about to make in a
few days in a _train de luxe_, was, until recently, made by the wretched
exiles on foot, taking from one to two years.

_22nd October._--Passed through flat, uninteresting country. Much wheat
cultivated. No trees, no hedges, no ditches and but little grass. Cloudy
and depressing. Inhabitants ill-clad and poverty stricken. Miserable
houses with mud or wooden walls and thatch roofs. Some were built
partly below ground for warmth, while earth heaped up round the walls
and over the roofs, gave them the appearance of enormous potato heaps,
having a door, chimney, and two or three windows. Churches were the only
substantial buildings.

_23rd October._--Same kind of country as yesterday. In afternoon more
hilly on approaching the Ural mountains. Dining-car far too small and
had often to wait hours for meals. General Wogack, a prominent Russian
Officer on his way to the Far East, seeing that I could not get a seat,
very kindly invited me to lunch at his table, which had been reserved
for him and his _aide-de-camp_. Both the General and his _aide_ spoke
English perfectly.

Another passenger was a Chinese Secretary of Legation from Rome, who,
not being able to speak anything but his own language, hailed me with
delight, and we had long conversations in Mandarin.

Grouped round towns and villages were enormous stack-yards, representing
what must have been the entire wheat crop of the surrounding country,
for I saw no other stacks in the fields. It seemed to me a very
dangerous plan, for if one stack caught fire, the others would be almost
sure to go too. There may have been as many as a thousand stacks close
together. I saw numerous turkeys at the farms.

_24th October._--This morning we were in the Ural mountains, and at
about 10 o'clock stopped at Zlataoust, which is the last town in Europe,
and where I bought two platinum candlesticks and a small model of a
sledge as mementoes. Here also much cutlery was for sale at very low
prices, being evidently manufactured in the neighbourhood, while
precious stones were offered in the rough state, as taken from the
mines, but it was necessary to be a connoisseur before venturing